New Confusions
by RosieG.9012
Summary: During an evening at the Hanged Man, Hawke deals with her feelings for Anders and an unexpected attraction to Isabela.


Since befriending Varric, Ilora had been spending more and more of her free evenings at the Hanged Man with her new companions.

She'd felt guilty, at first. She ought to be spending time with her mother, or taking care of any number of errands to prepare for the expedition. At the very least, she needed to set a positive example for Bethany. But between Varric's pestering and her sister's prodding, she soon gave in. And once there, she almost always enjoyed herself. Among her new friends she was not Ilora at all, but Hawke, someone new and perhaps more adventurous.

But with the newfound belonging came new confusions as well. Especially on this particular night, when she found herself seated between Anders and Isabela.

Since there entire group was gathered around a single table, space was at a premium, and Hawke couldn't move without bumping up against one of her neighbors. Move to the right, and she would hit Isabela—all soft curves and smooth skin that smelled of the sea. Move to the left, and there was Anders—solid warmth, soft fabrics, and a musky scent that made her head spin.

Trying to focus on something else, Hawke moved her arm to reach for her tankard, and her elbow brushed full against Isabela's breast. She paused, face hot, as Isabela looked over with her usual sideways smile.

"My, my, Hawke," she said. "At least buy me a drink first."

"Sorry," she muttered.

Anders leaned in Isabela's direction. The motion brought his body even closer to Hawke's, and her face went even hotter. Anders glanced from her to Isabela, mouth turned up at the corner.

"What happened?" he said.

"Hawke was trying to cop a feel," Isabela announced to the table. Hawke shot her a glare.

" _Isabela!"_

Isabela took another sip of her drink. "No need to be shy, Hawke."

Hawke glanced at Anders, and then at the rest of her friends. Bethany, Varric, and Fenris wore grins, while Aveline rolled her eyes and Merrill widened hers in confusion. Hawke addressed the group.

"I wasn't—"

As she gestured, she managed to upset Isabela's tankard, causing ale to spill out across the table. Isabela crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair with an exaggerated sigh.

"Oh, Hawke."

"I'm sorry—"

Isabela waved the apology away, lips curling back into a smile. "No worries, sweetheart," she said. She leaned in, lips very close to Hawke's ear as she spoke. "Now you really _can_ buy me a drink."

A not altogether unpleasant shudder passed up Hawke's spine. Quickly, she pushed her chair back from the table and stood up.

"Of course," she said. As she made to leave, she shot one more quick glance at Anders. He was uncharacteristically quiet, hunched over his drink. The sight hit her like a punch that left your eyes stinging. She turned and left.

"Thanks, love," Isabela called behind her. This was followed by the sounds of renewed chatter, and the faint sound of Merrill asking what it was Hawke had been trying to feel.

ooo

Hawke was seated on a crate outside the tavern when Anders found her. She stared into a nearby rain barrel, examining the ripples made by the faint evening wind, and let her heartbeat calm and the night air cool her heated skin. But then the sound of his voice made her sit bolt upright again.

"You look as though you'd like to drown yourself," he said.

He leaned against the door frame, arms crossed. Though his tone was lighthearted, there was something clouded about his expression. Hawke turned her attention back to the rain barrel.

"I'm thinking about it," she said.

He gave a short laugh. His footsteps crunched in the dusty street, and he took a seat on the crate just beside her. He wasn't close enough that they were touching, but she could feel the warmth of his body even from here. Anders always gave her an impression of heat. Sandy hair, earthy brown eyes—everything about him rich and alive, like a day in summer.

"You know that Isabela's just teasing you, right?" he said. "She's not trying to upset you."

Hawke glanced at him sideways through her bangs.

"Are you sure about that?" she said.

"Very sure," he said. "I know Isabela, at least a little bit, and she likes testing people. It's just the way she is."

He shrugged his shoulders, leaning back a little on the crate.

"But the good thing about her is she also respects people's limits. She'll see how far she can go, then leave off."

Hawke frowned, thinking over Anders' words. The insight reassured her, but only partly.

Anders, too, frowned. He coughed.

"Hawke," he said. His voice was thin, almost like a child's. "How far _do_ you want Isabela to go?"

Hawke met his gaze. He was leaning close, and she wasn't sure she'd ever been quite this near to him before.

"I don't know," she said.

He pulled back a bit, and she sat up straight again. She ran fingers through her short hair.

"It's so strange," she said. There was an uncomfortable laugh in her voice. "Sometimes, I think I like women, and sometimes—"

She glanced at Anders again, and he at her, but each looked away again. She shrugged her shoulders.

"Well, it's silly," she said. "I can't like both."

He chuckled, and she turned back toward him. His eyes were wrinkled, expression some combination of amusement and affection.

"Yes you can," he said.

"You can?"

He raised his eyebrows. " _I_ do."

Hawke let this sit for a moment, before it finally clicked.

"You like women _and_ men?"

"Yes. You remember Karl?" He faltered, briefly, on the name. "The point is… I think we're probably the same. You and I."

Hawke, digesting all this information, didn't speak. Anders and Karl. It had never occurred to her they might have been more than friends. She must have seemed so insensitive, back when she'd tried to console him and hadn't known. And her and Anders… they were alike.

For the first time since he'd come outside, she smiled at him. She felt much better—lighter, somehow.

"Maybe we are the same," she said. She gave a breathless, relieved laugh. "That makes so much more sense."

He gazed at her, equal parts warm and sad.

"Glad I could help," he said. "And, for what it's worth... I think Isabela's very lucky."

She was so caught up in the expression on his face, in the shape of his mouth, that it took her a moment to realize what he'd said, and answer.

"Anders," she said, voice faint. "Isabela… she's nice and all, but you know she's not the one I want."

She inched her hand close to his. His own fingers twitched, but he pulled away.

"I've already told you that can't happen," he said.

She curled her hands into fists in her lap. "I know."

She heard him sigh, and then he stood. He smiled back at her once more, soft and kind.

"We should go back inside," he said. "Don't let Isabela get to you, Hawke."

He headed back through the lantern lit door of the tavern. Hawke bit her lip, stomach rolling with a heady mixture of confusion and pleasure. Then she leapt off the crate and followed him inside.


End file.
